The Fading
by gauchadeutsche
Summary: Long before Aragorn, there was another son of both royal lines. Prince Aranarth of Arthedain routed Angmar from the city of Fornost, but at what price? What drove him to refuse the crown and take his people into hiding? Also, how did the noble exiles of Numenor become so mistrusted and feared in their own land?
1. Bitter Victory

**The Fading**

Summary: Long before Aragorn, there was another son of both royal lines. Prince Aranarth of Arthedain routed Angmar from the city of Fornost, but at what price? What drove him to refuse the crown and take his people into hiding? Also, how did the noble exiles of Númenor become so mistrusted and feared in their own land?

Disclaimer: The only Dúnedain I own are my Lord of the Rings Online characters. Alas.

I know, I know. I have tons of other stories I should be working on. But as I work on my novel-length Aragorn fic, I keep coming up with questions about the Rangers and how they lived...and this is how I answer myself. Hope you enjoy.

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_**Part 1 – Bitter Victory**_

___February 7, Year 1975 of the Third Age_

___Fornost Erain_

A pale winter Sun shone on the Fields of Fornost, throwing the tortured ground into sharp relief. What had once been a green, pleasant land was now desolate, a sea of bodies on frosty earth. Men cried out as pain and battle madness took them, and the hale searched for survivors with grim faces.

Prince Aranarth of Arnor surveyed the scene with keen grey eyes, his mouth tight with bitter satisfaction. For one year, one miserable year, his people had lived as refugees in Lindon, praying that their king would survive the cold of the Ice Bay and waiting for overdue help from the South. Today, the North had been cleansed. The Witch-King had fled, and his army was defeated. The combined armies of Arthedain, Lindon, Rivendell, and Gondor had destroyed them to the last man.

"Prince Aranarth!" called an urgent voice, and he spun at the sound of his adjutant, Borondir the Tall. The giant of a man was on his knees, holding a blood-stained, child-sized warrior in his arms.

Aranarth ran to them, guilt eating away at his heart. Halflings had no business here, but the stout little archers had insisted, nay, pleaded to help the kingdom. Now their stout commander lay dying in Borondir's arms.

The halfling, Bungo Took by name, fought to breathe under his sturdy leather armor. A poisoned Angmarim arrow lodged in his chest, another in his thigh. He fought to speak.

"Don't, Master Halfling," said Aranarth quietly. "You have done your share today, more than we'd any right to ask. You have earned your rest."

"Mu—Mungo," he wheezed, barely audible.

"We'll find him," Borondir answered.

Bungo didn't answer. His eyes stared unseeingly at Gate of Elendil and the banner of Angmar flying in the wind. The prince's adjutant stood, still carrying the hobbit.

"I'll place him with the others," he said gravely.

"Have you found them all?" Aranarth asked.

"Nay," the older man replied. "Of the fifty, six are in the healing tents."

The conversation was cut short as two riders approached, one on a nimble white horse and the other on a gigantic black steed. Lord Glorfindel of Rivendell and Prince Eärnur of Gondor slowed to a stop beside Aranarth, both weary from battle but victorious at last. Borondir took Bungo's body to the healers' tents.

"Well met, Dúnadan!" cried the elf-lord. "My congratulations on a well-fought battle. Fornost Erain is yours again, though doubtless you'll have to wash it free of the filth of Angmar."

"Indeed," Aranarth replied, glaring at the red and black banners of the Iron Crown. "What news of the Witch-King?"

"He fled," replied the prince of Gondor, clenching his fists in rage. "He would not face us, the spineless coward!"

"He will not return," Glorfindel assured them. "He has no power here anymore; Arthedain is weakened and Arvedui lost, and we have destroyed his northern army. Some far-off doom awaits him, but not here will he fall."

"So thou hast said," Eärnur cried hotly, "but he lives yet, and while he lives he will hinder the works of the Men of the West."

"I do not deny it. Nevertheless, he has fled and the field is ours. Now, where is Lord Círdan?" asked Glorfindel.

"Lord Círdan took an arrow to the shoulder," replied Aranarth. "He is in the officers' tent yonder. Lord Elrond has seen to him."

"Good," replied the elf. "I'll see if he needs assistance. There are less casualties than I expected, but enough to keep a healer of his skill busy."

"We appreciate the help," replied the prince of Arthedain honestly.

The golden-haired elf rode away on his white horse, and the soldiers searching the battlefield looked up and cheered as he went, for they had seen him in action. It was Glorfindel who had cowed the sorcerer and driven back the dark army. There was a brief silence as the prince of Gondor and the prince of Arnor looked at each other.

"Well," said Eärnur finally. "Thy city is returned to thee, cousin," he told Aranarth. "I am glad we could assist with this campaign at last."

"As am I," the northerner answered. "Gondor's full strength must be mighty indeed if you can spare enough to fill Círdan's harbor. I am envious."

"It is the mightiest army of Men," Eärnur replied proudly. "But you Northerners are valiant even in small numbers. We all have our battles, and I fear this Witch-King will return, perhaps to the Black Land. He will look to Gondor then."

"I don't doubt it," Aranarth replied, looking at the proud walls and gate of Fornost. "There is little to tempt him in the North; he made sure of that."

"Thy kingdom will heal," Eärnur assured him, clapping a hand on the younger prince's shoulder. "This foul creature of darkness will learn that the Dúnedain are not so easily defeated! Now, let us find some food and we can exchange stories of the battle. Our cavalry charge from the north will be worth many a song!" 

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	2. Battered and Broken

_**Part 2 – Battered and Broken**_

___February 9, Year 1975 of the Third Age_

___Fornost Erain_

The army of Gondor was gone, a cloud of dust in the western sky marking their passage. Their wounded would stay behind, and a small group of ships kept at Mithlond for their voyage home. Now the Dúnedain of Arnor were left behind with the elves, to bury the dead and do with the city as they saw fit.

The Fields of Fornost, once the bread-basket of the North Kingdom, stretched far to the south of the gates. These Aranarth had cleared of bodies and left alone, to heal from the scars of battle without interference. Sixth Company dug a series of mass graves northeast of the fields, to bury the enemy in all their numbers. To the northwest, Fourth and Fifth Companies dug smaller graves for the fallen Men of Arnor, Men of Gondor, Eldar, and the hobbits.

All fifty halflings had perished, six in the healers' tents and the rest on the battlefield. Many men had wept at the news, for the hobbits had brought good food to their bellies and cheer to their camps. Prince Aranarth oversaw their burial personally. The halfling commander Bungo Took, and his brother Mungo, were buried with Stars of Westernesse, the highest military honor available in the North Kingdom. The prince had a carved gravestone placed on the Halflings' Barrow, proclaiming the bravery of the Shire Archer Division for the world to see.

It was a long day, full of grief, as the living buried their fallen friends and allies. There were no songs in the camp that evening, and many lay yet in the healers' tents, too weak to attend the burials. Snow fell over the new graves as night approached, and Aranarth held council in his tent with the elves and surviving Lords of Arthedain.

"What news from the healers, Elladan?" asked the prince, wrapping his winter cloak more tightly around himself and wincing. The movement had pulled at one of his new wounds.

"Seven and thirty are in critical condition," answered the elf. "Eighty more will mend in time, but must not move for weeks. The rest may travel—slowly—as early as next week. My father suggests you put the hale soldiers to building wains, and stay in Fornost until the majority can travel safely."

"Staying in Fornost may pose a problem," Glorfindel objected. "We don't know what sort of horrors Angmar may have left for us in there."

"I sent First and Second Companies inside to look," Aranarth supplied. "Lord Anborn, what goes on in the city?"

"We've found nothing on the lower level," said the First Company captain and Lord of Ost Ardúlin. "Some caches of loot and supplies for a long-term stay, but no traps or wraiths. If there are any, we will find them tomorrow in the upper level."

"Good," Aranarth answered. "Then we may move the wounded into the lower level for now. Is the water clean?"

"Clear as Nenuial," Anborn replied. "These were no orcs. The hillmen and Angmarim need water as much as we do; they did not foul it."

"That's a relief," sighed Beren, the elderly Lord of Carnoglin and captain of Fifth Company.

"My lords, if I may," said Lord Anardil, Steward of Arthedain. "We have reclaimed our capital and destroyed Angmar, it is true. Yet Angmar was only one of the Enemy's many servants. He has not forgotten the Elendili, nor will he ever. We could not defend Fornost with our full army; how shall we do so now, with a tithe of its former strength?"

There was a long pause, as each man at the table remembered the horrifying defeat of King Arvedui's forces, and their desperate flight from the city. Aranarth cleared his throat.

"I will decide nothing so important," he said at last, "until we know what has befallen my father the King. If storms defeat the ships of the Eldar, we must send men over land. I will accept volunteers for this mission, of course. While they ride north for news of my father, we must take care of things here."

Borondil spoke up softly from his corner of the room. "My lord, one of the scouting parties found our store of winter supplies, nigh untouched. Shall we send the food on to Lindon?"

"With all haste," Aranarth answered. "It's been a hard winter for our families, and we have our own supplies now that we've taken Angmar's. Gather as much as can be done in haste, and we'll send it on with the first group of wounded."

Borondir bowed in reply.

"Tomorrow we must search the High Streets while the most severely wounded move into Lower Fornost. I want the Forochel expedition ready in two days. Good night to you all."

The lords and captains returned to their own tents, leaving the elves to contemplate matters over a cup of warm cider. One of the men, the white-haired Keeper of Records, walked slower than the rest, favoring arthritic knees and looking up at the stars with failing eyes.

"___Much sorrow and many lives of men shall pass, until the Dúnedain arise and are united again_," quoted Malbeth sadly. It was the prophecy that he had been given at King Arvedui's birth. "So it begins. Elbereth Star-Kindler, grant us thy blessing and watch over our young prince."

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I don't like killing hobbits. =( Unfortunately, the good professor was clear; none of the bowmen ever returned to the Shire.


	3. Tidings from the North

Laegened, Haerdor, and Hasikkä are not mine; they are characters from Lord of the Rings Online, who do exactly what they did here. (It's an awesome game and free to play; any Tolkien nerd should try it at least once. It's gloriously true to the books!)

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_**Part 3 – Tidings from the North**_

___April 17, Year 1975 of the Third Age_

___Fornost Erain_

Prince Aranarth stood in the King's Garden, enjoying the sun's warmth as he took a break from healing. The folk of Rivendell and Lindon had gone home, leaving the Dúnedain to recover in peace. This meant that the son of Arvedui, as the only royal present, was the most skilled healer available. Most of the army was on its feet again, but a few would need the newly constructed wains to travel past the gates. The House of Peace, where healers tended the wounded and ill of Fornost, had nearly exhausted its supply of ___athelas_.

For two months, the prince and his council had waited for news of the Forochel expedition and the fate of the king. It had been two months of loneliness, as the wounded men pined for wives and children in Lindon, and Aranarth wandered his home alone. Fornost had been declining for many years, as Angmar ate away at the army and the population of Arthedain and Cardolan dwindled. After the devastation of 1974, the Dúnedain could not fill a quarter of Fornost, and even less of Annúminas. The silent streets were falling to ruin as he watched, powerless to stop them.

"Highness!" called an urgent voice, and the dark-haired man turned to face the full Council of Arnor, led by his father's steward.

"Yes, Lord Anardil?"

The man brought two others dressed for travel. Both soldiers knelt with hands clasped at the breast.

"Highness, Lieutenant Haerdor and Sergeant Laegened led the expedition to the Ice Bay. They bring tidings from the North."

He had suspected as much. Aranarth bade them rise and speak.

"Prince Aranarth, we met with Chief Hasikkä of the Lossoth; it was his people that gave our king shelter, and saw Círdan's mariners come for him. Before boarding the ship, the king gave him this."

Silence reigned as Haerdor held out an emerald ring. "King Arvedui explained it was worth little except as an heirloom, and that we would ransom it back with food and supplies, as thanks for the aid they rendered him. A storm destroyed the rescue ship and its crew, and the palantíri of Annúminas and Amon Sûl were lost in the water. I am sorry, Highness. The king was aboard that ship when it foundered. We ransomed back the ring with the extra supplies, as His Majesty had promised."

"King Arvedui has fallen, then," said Anardil solemnly, then took the ring from Haerdor and gave it to a rather numb Aranarth. "May he find peace in the Halls of Mandos. Prince Aranarth, take the Ring of Barahir and the Sceptre of Annúminas. Hail to the King!"

"Hail to the King!" repeated the council members and soldiers. Those within earshot on the lower level joined in.

Malbeth the Seer came forth bearing the Elendilmir and the Sceptre, the two heirlooms that Aranarth himself had saved from the fall of Fornost and taken to Lindon. Now they belonged to him.

"What is thy will, sire?" asked Lord Anborn. "Shall we send for the women and children and resettle the city after thy coronation?"

Aranarth turned back toward the garden balcony. Soldiers went about their duties in the lower level, exercising wounded limbs or carrying provisions. The new king beheld the scars of battle on the walls of grey stone, and wondered if Fornost would ever see peace and prosperity.

"No," he said finally, turning back to his council. "I will not have us trapped here for the next enemy that Sauron sends our way. We have done naught but dwindle since Arnor divided, and if there is an end to our fading I cannot see it."

"Sire, with plentiful harvests and children we could regain some of our old strength," cried Lord Beren. "Wouldst thou have us leave Fornost to the beasts, while our wives dwell in tents?"

"It would not be the first city the Dúnedain have abandoned," Aranarth sighed. "I am not a self-sacrificing fool, Lord Beren. I would have lived quite comfortably in the Palace of Amlaith. But the Arthedain we knew, and the Arnor we lost, are in the past now. It is time for a new approach."

The councilmen, sensing a serious discussion, took seats on the stone benches as their young king paced back and forth.

"I spoke with Elladan and Elrohir, before they returned to Imladris. Only the peoples of Men, at the height of their strength and power, do as we have done and keep fortresses out in the open. The Eldar and the Dwarves prefer secret strongholds to our brazen towers, and the elves harry the enemy by stealth rather than open war. When our numbers are so few, the elven way appears to advantage."

The lord of the Northern Dúnedain paced a bit more, and looked over his council with haunted grey eyes.

"My Lords, at present our people are too few to resettle Arthedain, let alone Arnor. We have sworn to protect the people of Bree, and the little folk of the Shire. We also have a duty to our families in Estolad. Therefore, I propose that the Dúnedain disappear into the shadows, just as the Eldar do."

Lords Beren and Beleg looked at each other in horror, but Anborn and Galdor nodded in appreciation. The Steward Anardil frowned in thought, and Malbeth looked at the king with a sad, knowing smile.

"To our enemies, it will appear as though the Men of the North are well and truly defeated. There will be no king in Fornost, and no army such as we have today. Instead, our people will trade plate armor for leather and swords for bows. We will patrol all areas of our kingdom, and eliminate threats to our people, whether they be goblins or wolves."

"Sire, what of our families?" asked Anardil. "Shall our children wander the Wild while the homes of their fathers fall to ruin?"

"Nay!" cried Aranarth impatiently. "We shall not be homeless; we will need ___small_ settlements for our families, and as places where we might herd cattle and grow crops to trade for supplies. It will be a hard life, full of toil, but we shall protect Eriador and disappear from Sauron's view, until the time comes for the Dúnedain and the Line of Elendil to reveal themselves."

Slowly, reverently, Aranarth removed the Star of Elendil from his brow, and placed the Sceptre back into its box. He had carried them them for less than a quarter of an hour.

"The realm of Arthedain is ended," he said solemnly. "Therefore I will not crown myself king. I and my heirs shall be Chieftains of the North, and Rangers of the Wild, bearing only the Ring of Barahir as symbol of our lineage. Heirs of my line shall go to Imladris in their youth, for safekeeping and education. Our families may remain in Estolad, or travel in small groups to other settlements, where they may live in peace. The army is now disbanded; I will take volunteers to form Ranger companies, and ask the Eldar to train us."

"Sire," objected Lord Beleg. "What is to become of our homes, our lands?"

Aranarth was immovable. "If you wish to return to Henneth Rhún, you may," he said bluntly. "You may find that the invaders have raided your larders, burned your fields, and stolen your silver. If you can recover from all of that, you must become self-sufficient. There will be no Fornost Market anymore, no Royal Army, no centralized crafting guilds. We will do what we must, Lord Beleg. I myself will leave my father's palace and live in the Wild."

The new king watched as his council members stared at each other in alarm or relief, as their nature dictated. He had known there would be opposition, but he was not fool enough to ignore foresight when it was given.

"Remember, lords," Aranarth continued. "There is no North Kingdom anymore. We are but hunters now, rustic folk with a noble heritage and the hope of better days. We will ever remember our history, but to the world, we will be nothing more than a memory—until the time is right. Now, let us adjourn, and Anardil and I will look over maps and see where we ought to settle."

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I feel so bad for Aranarth. Compared to Aragorn he's just a kid, only 38 years old. =(

Reviews are always appreciated!


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